


Blue Demon

by JellyClare



Series: From History We Rise - V and Johnny [3]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mental Instability, Mystery, Post-Canon, Relationship Issues, Romance, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyClare/pseuds/JellyClare
Summary: V is happy. Her high-end mercenary life is paying off well, raking in eddies and allowing just enough murder in her life. Not to mention, Johnny Silverhand’s there with her every step of the way. Her future is looking bright. That is, until one night, a blood-stained stranger shows up at her doorstep claiming to be her long-dead brother.Suddenly, the merc is swept into a dark power struggle between a relentless megacorporation and the criminal underworld of Night City. Caught between her desire to right the wrongs of her past and her hope for a “happy ending,” V must decide her next course of action before more trouble than she can handle barrels down her door.Meanwhile, Johnny, who secretly struggles with his past demons, may or may not begin a chain of events that can start a Fifth Corporate War and plunge Night City into chaos.A “Reborn, Anew, Remember” sequel, please check that out!
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Series: From History We Rise - V and Johnny [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139705
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	1. Trouble Dee and Trouble Dum

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go! Hope you guys enjoy this first chapter of the sequel to “Reborn, Anew, Remember!” It’s a different type of story that is more linear and plotted and marginally less angsty. But, of course, since my favorite part of Johnny and V’s relationship are their conflicts and occasional toxicity, we will see the two having their fair share of relationship problems.
> 
> For any new readers, I encourage you to read the previous series but I will offer a small summary—seven months after the raid of Mikoshi where V managed to locate Johnny’s body and reinstall his engram in it, she and him work through some inner turmoil, his amnesia, and relationship issues to finally get into a romantic relationship. V is relatively healthy physically, having had found a “miracle cure,” and Johnny is an amnesiac, a dick, and a burgeoning merc. Kind of. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

NOVEMBER 10TH 2078 - 9:18 PM 

Night spilled like oil over the Northside Industrial District, thick and grimy, as V crept from shadow to shadow towards the squat warehouse at the edge of the unmarked factory grounds. Noxious fumes curdled the air, hiding not only the moon and stars from view, but also the copper tang of spilled blood. Bodies laid undiscovered in bins and in nooks—Maelstrom goons that took little more than the score of V’s knife to dispatch. Killing was beginning to feel a little too easy, a little too detached, and every death only added notoriety to her moniker—the Reaper. 

The epithet was a double-edged sword—on one side, it gave her a solid, God-fearing reputation that built her wealth, offered a plethora of opportunities, and cowed criminals and authorities alike; on the other, it made her feel inhuman. Plenty of her associates and friends have commented on her obsessive work ethic, her inclination for violence. Unless certain parameters were established beforehand, few survived the reapings that were her gigs. Twenty-nine years old and she has already left at least five-times the dead behind, all personally executed by her hand. 

Did she feel bad? It was hard to say. Some days it was easy to forget the bloodshed and havoc she has wrecked. Other days were wrought with remorse and guilt, yet those moments only ever seemed to propel her nearer to brutality. She killed many on those days—evil and corrupt individuals, yes, but, even in Night City where vigilantism was justice, could she truly be the judge of who lived or died? Some may argue that fixers were the decision-makers; after all, they are the ones who assign each gig. But  _ she _ was the hand that swung the sword and, even without need, she still swung. 

Demons. Everyone in this sinful metropolis had demons. 

It just so happened V’s was the spirit of Death. 

“Do you see the target?” She murmured into her link, eyeing the haphazardly stacked crates leading to the flat roof of the depot where the skylights offered a drop into the second-floor office. 

Static and a gruff response spilled into her ears, “Still up on his throne. Bastard’s just lumbering around. I can see ‘bout three guards but not sure if there are any more.” 

V glanced towards the road where an abandoned radio tower stretched four floors into the sky, offering a bird’s eye view of the factory limits. Johnny Silverhand was perched against its rusted railing, a lit joint in his chrome hand and her Overwatch propped up in his right. Her optics zoned in on his bored expression, his dark hair flicking in the night breeze as he shifted off the scope. “Are you even watching my back?” 

“Fuck you think? What else can I do up here?” He grumbled back. “Not like you’re letting me shoot anyone.”

“You’re just jealous I get results without alerting somebody or blowing something up.”

“Yeah, yeah, I have a bad track record. Can you just get this done so we can head home?” 

_ Home. _ V smiled wryly to herself. Ever since the two returned from Kerry’s promotional tour, the Rockerboy has been referring to her apartment more and more as that. She couldn’t agree further. His presence, like the perfect piece of furniture, truly cemented the property as a haven of safety and intimacy. She could see it now—his clothes strewn across the floor, empty bottles of liquor dotting the counter, and his old guitar nestled on...their bed.  _ Home. _

She tore herself from the sweet reverie and began climbing nimbly up onto the warehouse. The metal roofing creaked beneath her weight and she stilled, suddenly hearing the muted scuffle of boots. 

“Shit, another guard. She’s facing the east, just behind the cooling unit.” Johnny muttered. 

She nodded to herself, skirting the edge of the roof, and veered in the indicated direction. A glinting outline materialized from the heavy dark. The Maelstrom ganger was scanning the opposite side of the warehouse, unaware of the corpses heaped on the ground behind them. A smart submachine gun hung low in her hands and V recognized the tight suit of a Netrunner enveloping her frame. 

She really wasn’t in the mood to get overheated tonight. 

She crept carefully up towards her, ducking when a particular spot beneath her feet squeaked and sent the Maelstrom’s red optics in her direction. Breath caught in her throat, she waited for the ganger to turn back around before rearing up behind her. Her arms hooked the woman’s neck and twisted sharply. Chrome churned in resistance but V’s reinforced skeleton ensured the kill. She lowered the body carefully, prying away the dead hacker’s gun and slipping the strap over her shoulder. 

_ This will be useful in case shit goes sideways.  _

The raised skylights were a few feet away, offering a relatively clear glimpse into the depot’s interior. It was a medium-sized space with two floors. The second was half the size of the first, ringing the walls of the warehouse in a series of walkways and a single closed room—the office where the target cowered. More gangers patrolled within, not even bothering to act like they worked here.  _ One, two, three...seven.  _ Seven guards in total—four on the ground and three strutting the gangways. It was too well lit and, as V caught the tell-tale glimmers of cameras, too well surveillanced. 

She had to approach this very carefully. “Still only see three Maelstrom in the office?” 

“Yeah.” Johnny paused. “Careful, V. They look too alert for my liking.” 

“Will do.” She judged the drop, debating where she should land first when the voices between two of the Maelstrom on walkways reached her ears. They slumped against railing only ten feet away from her. 

“—why we’re here. Nothing’s happened all night.” The left ganger, a stocky male missing his right hand, grunted. “How long do we gotta wait?” 

His partner snorted, crossing his arms. He was lanky, with half of his skull a mess of wires. He reminded V of Dum Dum, the Maelstrom idiot she executed almost a year ago. “Don’t even start, Hank. You better pray we get through the rest of tonight as it is.” 

“Why the hell would I do that?” 

“Rumors are that that stupid Afterlife bitch hired the Reaper to zero Crow.” 

“That merc that took down ‘Saka?  _ Fuckkk… _ what the hell did he do?”

“Dunno. Don’t care. The boss wanted us to guard him so that’s what we gotta do. Let’s just hope that crazy cunt doesn’t show up. I’m off.” Dum Dum 2.0 stalked away, gun raised. 

Crow—the senior Maelstrom that kidnapped and tortured the nephew of Rogue’s old pal for shits and giggles. That is, officially, for the rich boy’s high-end chrome. It was a signature move for the gang; they were no better than scavengers in that regard but the bastard napped the wrong person. So, now, V was here to enact Rogue’s vengeance. She didn’t mind one bit. These fuckers were one of the worst gangs in Night City; no one but their own will miss Crow and, even then, the conversation indicated that the goons could care less for him. 

They were just following orders.

Unfortunately for them, V could care less. One less Maelstrom ganger meant one less stain, even in the never-ending filth of Night City. 

Hank, the stocky one, turned and stepped behind the cover of a beam. Within the next beat, V dropped down behind him with a muted  _ bang _ and, before he could turn, wrenched his neck. He dropped like a stone into her waiting hands and she lowered him gingerly onto the gangway.  _ One. _

Dum Dum 2.0 was coming back and, in a few feet, will spot her handiwork. He was too alert for her liking and she won’t be able to reach him in time to twist his neck. V pulled out her Overture, checking the suppressor and the clip, and crept from the shadow of beam into his line of view. 

The ganger gaped at her.  _ “You—” _

A round between his chromed-out eyes silenced him forever. His body folded and fell with a quiet thud.  _ Two.  _ She stilled but no one on the ground floor appeared alerted by the noise. The closest of the gangers hacked a cough but continued his mindless patrol, unaware of the corpse suspended above him. 

But Dum Dum 2.0’s brains were leaking out onto the grated gangway. It was only a matter of time before gore formed a puddle on the floor below. She searched his body swiftly, prying a MaxDoc from his leather jacket, and continued on.

Johnny’s voice crackled to life in her ear, “You alright?” 

V hummed an affirmation and swept down the walkway over Hank. The office where Crow hid was tucked in the northwest corner a few paces away. A single door with a rectangular opening faced her. Through it, she could see the flutter of occupants within. “I only have a handful of minutes before the other goons find out their buddies are dead. I need you to tag at least one of the bastards inside the office when I open the door. I won’t be able to get them all before they scream.”

“I got your back, V. I mean, as long as you—” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll stop you right there, horndog. On three.” V slid up to the door, praying no one tried to look through the window, and pressed herself against the wall beside it. It was unlocked. 

“One.”

“Two.” Johnny echoed. 

“Three.” 

She shoved the door open and flew into the office. The Rockerboy was right. Three guards suspended in various states of vigilance all turned to stare at her. Beyond them was Crow, obviously using them as cannon fodder. The half-opened bottle in his hands shattered on the floor. Foam and beer slicked between shards of glass. Too loud. 

_ Fuck.  _

_ CRACK! _ The closest goon’s head exploded, slumping his body over a dead console, and V whipped into action. Her Overture discharged four short bursts—two into each of the remaining guards. One caught a bullet in the gut and the arm, her assault rifle flying from her hands. The other dropped dead on the sofa where he sat.  _ Three. _

Crow reached for a revolver of his own. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” She warned, stalking towards him. 

He backed away, nearly slipping in his spilled beer, and waved a desperate hand at the groaning woman at his feet, “Get her!” 

The goon grabbed at her but before she could even get close, Johnny’s next shot took her in the chest. She was dead by the time she hit the ground. 

“See?” V waved her gun at the chair in the corner. “Sit the fuck down, Crow.” 

“Fuck you, bitch.” He swore but stumbled back and onto the seat. “I don’t know who you think you are but—”

“We both know why I’m here. I’ll give you two options—tell me where Ben Moore’s body is and I’ll end you fast. Don’t? I’ll flay off your skin.”

Before Crow could respond, Johnny’s voice growled down the link, “V, think the other fuckers heard you. I see one running towards you now.” 

“Do you have a shot on them?”

“No. You’ll have to handle it. I’ll keep an eye on the slimy asshole.”

Footsteps stampeded outside the room, followed by the cacophony of alert voices. Crow sneered, “I’m going rip your head off bitch.” 

“I’d shut up—my partner’s quite trigger happy.” 

Trusting Johnny to watch her back, V spun as the four remaining Maelstroms in the depot stormed into the room. She emptied the clip of her pilfered submachine gun into the first and shoved aside another, retracting her mantis blades.  _ Four.  _

Bullets ricocheted wildly—one grazed her side but she shrugged off the familiar lance of pain. They were trying to corner her but fear twisted their mouths, keeping them out of reach. The gang must’ve recognized her. 

Gritting her teeth, V lunged forward and skewered the asshole that shot her. He choked as steel punctured his lungs, his fingers scrabbling in the torn sleeves of her sweater.  _ Five.  _

She tossed his dying body into his friend. The goon stumbled back and a line of rounds arced into the ceiling. Flashing red text flooded her view—one of them was hacking her. Her temperature rocketed and sweat beaded her forehead. 

Her blades hissed with electricity as it lashed through the air, decapitating the stumbling Maelstrom just as his gun swung up.  _ Six. _

Behind her, the ganger she‘d shoved aside had taken shelter by the sofa. He raised his pistol as her gaze landed on him.  _ 80%.  _ Time stilled. She watched the hacker’s bullets fly by and swam through time. The percentage ticked higher and higher. 

Her right arm swung. Steel bit into flesh and chrome. Comedically slow, the hacker’s face crumpled with agony. 

_ 95%.  _

Reality collapsed back into place and the warning sign winked away. 

Blood, bone, and organs hit the floor with a disgusting squelch. She’d sheared the hacker in half. The smell of his roasted flesh polluted the room and mingled with a myriad of other odors. 

Silence had fallen with the body like a judge’s gavel and Crow’s mangled face gaped at V from the same position she left him in. Except, the gash on his cheek was new—Johnny must’ve shot at him to keep him still. Not bad of a sniper, was he? She smiled slightly, strangely proud, and Crow stiffened.

He stammered, “I-I’ll tell you whatever you want. Ben, yeah?” 

_ Right— _ considering the sheer amount of gore on her, V must look deranged with that expression. 

Oh well. “Keep talking.” 

* * *

  
NOVEMBER 10TH 2078 - 10:00 PM 

Their breaths frosted the space between them as they pulled apart. Lips stinging, pulses racing, their expressions mirrored one another. Two halves of a whole—granted, ragged and imperfect, but two halves nonetheless. 

Chill autumn air swept into the Porsche, perfect against V’s feverish skin. The pair were parked in the lot outside Afterlife, the mercenary straddling Johnny’s lap in the passenger seat. He was rigid underneath her and his gaze was more than suggestive as his thumbs stroked the small of her back. Everything should be perfect...yet, a current of reservation underscored his desire. 

He didn’t pull her to him for the sake of lust only, it seems. “What’s wrong?” 

Johnny stilled. His lashes curtained his gaze as he contemplated her question and his voice was rough when he finally answered. “You ever think about the lives you take?”

Something within her recoiled and V dropped her hands from his hair. She stared at the dried blood beneath her chipped nail polish—remains of lives cut short. She never could scrub all of it off. 

“Sometimes.” She said slowly, “It depends, I guess. I can’t say I don’t regret at least some of them.” 

“First time I killed someone was in Mexico. Had nightmares for days. But what really fucking haunts me is Arasaka tower.”

“The nuke?”

“Yeah.” He paused, brows wrinkling. “When I was chatting with Saburo, a woman was messing with my head. Said her husband died in the blast. And then, I woke up fifty years later and found out just how many people died because what I did… Only, nothing changed, did it? Corp’s still fucking around.”

“Johnny…” Déjà vu. They’ve already had this conversation once, though of course he didn’t recall it, but seeing the pain on Johnny’s face still stung. She smoothed out the furrow between his eyes and, gingerly, ghosted a kiss on his forehead. But the touch only hardened his face and he pulled her away slightly. 

“Forget it, V. We should go wrap up the gig.” 

She exhaled— _ Stubborn, secretive bastard.  _ “Fine.” 

————

Drop in, drop out. That was what V thought’d they do once they talked to the Queen of the Afterlife except Johnny apparently had other plans. He settled in the booth opposite of Rogue, palming his signature drink. His usual arrogant mask was in place; all traces of vulnerability had dissipated like smoke at the entrance. She crossed her arms, trying not to glare at him, and sent over the location of Ben Moore’s body. 

The older woman smiled wearily, optics flashing blue. “Thank you, V. This will give my friend some semblance of comfort. You handled it well.”

“I always do.” She replied curtly, “Is that all?”

“Yes, your reward’s on the way.” Rogue pushed a glass towards her. “Why don’t you have a drink? Unwind a bit.”

“No, we should be heading back. It’s been a long day.” V said pointedly, unable to stop herself from scowling at the Rockerboy, who was starting to look more and more at ease. He didn’t flinch at her obvious displeasure. Instead, he took a blatant sip of his cocktail and kicked his legs up on the table.

It took all of her will to not throttle him. 

Amusement filled Rogue’s face but her eyes were pensive when V turned back to her. “I have something to say to Johnny anyway. Won’t take long.”

She opened her mouth to respond but Johnny’s nonchalant voice interrupted instead. 

“Don’t wait up, V. I’ll get myself back later.” A dismissal—why the hell was he suddenly acting like this when  _ he _ was the one that insisted on completing this gig? She searched his face, fists clenching against her chest when she only saw an empty slate. He wasn’t giving her  _ anything. _

_ Fine. _ It wasn’t like they were attached at the hip. “I’ll see you around, Rogue.” 

* * *

  
She wasn’t angry. Of course not. Johnny can do whatever he wants— _does_ do whatever he wants—and she had no qualms about that. Independent people had their own lives, did their own things, more so when one lived a half-life like him. V wasn’t controlling or possessive like that; the Rockerboy needed friends like Rogue. Needed space from just being _them..._ a couple. Especially so when said couple were explosive quite often with one another. 

But she  _ was _ upset. More accurately, unsettled. 

His mein, his questions—all of that had left her confused and worried for him. Worst of all, it wasn’t the first time he’s looked that way since they returned from their “vacation.” He’s been spending more time away, less likely to join on her jobs or mill around in the apartment. Normally, she’d attribute that to his general restlessness and overactive character but this was different. Johnny was perturbed in a way that spelled trouble. That spelled a man who couldn’t process his emotions and thoughts without being furious or aroused. 

Or, that spelled a man who wasn’t willing to confide in her.

That bothered her the most. 

After all, weren’t they a...couple? Fucking hell, what a label. Like they were ever just a  _ couple, _ romantic or otherwise. A pair of crazy gonks more like.

V gently knocked her head against the steering wheel—abruptly exhausted. Two gigs, many bodies, and now this. Whatever  _ this _ was. She really wasn’t good with relationship issues. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t joined her. Now, she’ll have time to think. 

Yeah, like she needed  **more** time to muse over things as if she hasn’t been lost in her mind enough lately. 

V pushed out of her car and into the elevator that led up to her floor. The ride was silent and the hallway empty when she reached her door. Across from her, a pair of voices argued and a dog yelped and the mundaneness of it all soothed her nerves as she entered the stillness that was her apartment. Dirty clothes and half-finished scraps laid strewn across the furniture dotting the room—it turned out that Johnny was somewhat of a slob and she, herself, was never the best at cleaning up. Working at Arasaka had afforded her a cleaning staff, not to mention for a good decade of her adolescence she had people sweeping up after her. 

Now, V was too worried about attempted assassinations to even consider that. She was, after all,  _ still _ a wanted person, even though Night City tended to give her plenty of leeway. No one wanted another Arasaka-like collapse, which she still blamed Alt for, or a typical Reaper slaying. 

The messes she leaves behind… Typical that her apartment was as clean as a dumpster right now. She sighed, running a hand through her blood matted hair, and began tidying up. 

————

Bags of garbage, full laundry baskets, and a shower later, V gazed out at the dull murk that was the nighttime ocean. A joint wiggled between her lips—a craving she hadn’t been able to ignore because sleep was eluding her. She was too agitated, too pensive. Her mind was still racing with reasons for Johnny’s behavior, yes, but also the thoughts that’d plagued her earlier tonight. 

Death. Violence. Bloodshed.  **Reaper.** Each word a curse that stalked her. When will it end, the cycle of corruption and malevolence that plagued Night City, and what was her role in it all? Admittedly, V was a bad person. There was no way around it. But that wasn’t all she was and wanted to be—she has done good too. Put an end to nefarious schemes, corporations, and people. Rescued innocents. 

_ But you’ve also done the opposite.  _ Yes, but Justice was a balance of scales. At the end, the heavier side will result in the final judgement of her life. 

V scoffed. God, what the hell was that? Her thoughts were bordering on the spiritual now; Misty would be proud. What did this contemplation matter? From the very beginning, since the decisions she made after her parents went bankrupt, none of this has mattered. Survival was what mattered.  **Still** mattered. It was the inevitable path to take in this city, no matter one’s identity, and that’s what she has done—survive. Ruining and/or taking lives was just another component of that. 

Even if she’s gone too deep. 

At least she’s made a name for herself. A pang in her heart had her dragging her cig shakily. Jackie. Would her old choom be proud to see her now, living the legendary life he’s always wanted? Or would he be disgusted to see what she’s done to get here? Would he think she was worse now that she was a free soul unshackled to the shit-hole that was Arasaka and doing as she pleased? That mission at the scavenger’s hideout had exposed the gentle, mild humanity in Jackie—that man would likely be horrified at the things she’s done since then. 

Hell, if her friends even knew half the things she’s done… V was lucky they didn’t. These thoughts, this career, AND a solitary existence would cripple her. Only Johnny understood...or he did before their separation. She could only hope he’d think the same now if she ever decided to fully expose the mire that was her past. Seeing and feeling and knowing her history from her head was very different from hearing it out of her mouth. At least he loved her now, fucked up as she was. Or, she hoped so anyway. 

Fuck’s sake—four short months and she was already questioning his feelings for her. 

_ As you should be. What’s keeping him next to you? Misplaced nostalgia and throwback emotions he still can’t fully place?  _

On the verge of ripping her hair out, V forced herself out of her head and back into her body. Seasonal depression. It had to be; she’s never been great with the cold seasons. Night City was suppose to be humid and hot for fuck’s sake. Why was it so cold lately? She crossed her arms. She should try to sleep. 

Mind made, she heaved in another lungful of autumn air when a hammering resounded behind her. The front door. At first, V thought it might’ve been Johnny. Except, the Rockerboy was keyed in—even wasted he would be able to get into the house. So who the hell was that? Stubbing her cig, V made for the Overture on her coffee table and, after a pause, released a blade too. Better safe than sorry.

More knocking. Louder and more insistent. No bounty hunter, merc, or assassin could possibly be this idiotic. She neared the door, peering into the peehole. An empty, grimy hall stared back. Whoever it was was hiding. 

“ _ Please, Valerie, _ open the door.” V froze. That voice. Her name. 

No. It couldn’t be.

_ He gazed at her fondly, rustling her hair like she was the younger one. He was taller than her now, all awkward limbs and angles. Black hair, recently cut short, grazed his hazel eyes—mirrors to her own. She smiled, playfully whacking away his hand.  _

_ “What do you want, भाई?”  _

The sudden memory welled tears to her eyes and, gun ready, V opened the door. 

At first, there was only ragged breathing and space. She didn’t step out. Didn’t dare. But then her visitor stumbled in front of her. 

Burgundy dappled an unfamiliar brown face set with slivers of implants and crowned with shorn hair. Furrowed brows, contorted lips. Sharp cheekbones and a narrow jaw. A man’s face that exuded masculinity but, also, belied an androgynous beauty that many would kill for. Taller than her by half a foot like Johnny. 

But all that paled in comparison to one thing. 

His hazel eyes. 

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. 

“Who are you?” She whispered. 

Hesitation sparked through his face before something akin to determination hardened it. His lips parted, his voice silky deep. “It’s me, sister. Lucien. I need your help.” 

  
  
  



	2. To End the World (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny fell silent, reading the man’s intentions. An age since he’s bedded a man. An age since he’s bedded anyone else beside V—a record, honestly. He wasn’t exactly the monogamous, commitment type. Rogue could attest to that. He never did relationships right, not that he was quite sure he was even in one. Admissions aside, he nor V’s ever titled each other anything. They were more than simple fuckbuddies or chooms. It wasn’t that simple; what he felt for her, what they had, transcended labels. 
> 
> But, fuck, did he feel like shit. He needed something. Anything. So, Johnny didn’t move when the man leaned even further forward, close enough to—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half Johnny’s POV, half V’s.
> 
> And a helping of sex to spice things up. 
> 
> Not sure if I should change the rating since this fic will have more sex than the first ? 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

NOVEMBER 11th 2078 - 12:22 AM 

Glitz and neon dominated the main floor of Lizzie’s Bar—exactly what Johnny imagined the physical manifestation of contemporary synth-pop to look like. A bloom of bright color, braindances on narcotics, and hot women holding spiked bats. It was a nice view but not at all similar to Johnny’s usual haunts, especially lately now that he was— 

He rubbed his face with a mutter, downing another finger of whiskey. He was here because it wasn’t Afterlife, because he had no car, and because something about the bar’s name had drawn him here. No doubt a blowback from his elusive past in someone else's head. At the end, none of that mattered. What really mattered was that there was a bartender eager to serve and serve he did. He was racking quite a bill up and not even creatively. 

No, all Johnny Silverhand wanted tonight was to get mind-fuckingly wasted. Thinking was overrated. Thinking made him want to throw up the day’s meals, shit, even yesterday’s. He was tired of it. If he was going to vomit, he was going to do it because of the worst hangover ever. 

He tightened his hold on his empty glass and waved it at the bartender lounging against the counter not far from him, “Another.”

“Of course. The same?”

“No. I’ll have a tequila instead. Fanciest shit you have.” 

“Coming right up.” 

Johnny watched the mixologist flip out a decanter, gold-dusted hair glinting in the strobe lights, and was reminded of another bartender which then, inevitably, reminded him of Rogue. The bitch—what a friend she was. He ground his teeth and took out a smoke. Inhaling, he leaned against the bar and tried to force the fixer from his head. Force out the conversation they had earlier tonight.

**_“One way or another, you have to make up your mind, Johnny. I let you trapeze off with V for a couple months but I’m done waiting.”_ **

**_“You don’t_ ** **let** **_me do shit, Rogue. And stop—”_ **

“Your tequila.” 

Johnny nodded in thanks, grabbing his drink. He took an irritated drag of his cig and realized, with a shock, that he didn’t want to smoke anymore. The tobacco, the nicotine. None of it fucking did it for him anymore. Maybe V _was_ right, maybe it was time for him to stop. _V…_ He exhaled, staring down at the joint. 

Decisions. 

He’s never had a problem making them until he woke up on a hospital bed, utterly wrecked from chems and confusion. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He felt like he was in Pistis Sophia all over again—the first time, right after his desertion. Staring up at the ceiling fan, wrecked and needing to know what came next. Shell-shocked from what he saw, yet, hard-pressed to make a decision because of it. He spent weeks in that shit-hole, staring at the sunsets and horrified to realize that time just kept moving. That Night City kept living and dying. That its people kept getting fucked over by the corps. By Arasaka. Until finally, he stopped being Robert John Linder and became Johnny Silverhand. 

So where was that? That realization? That shedding of old skin? It sure as hell wasn’t coming like the realization that maybe he didn’t care to fucking smoke anymore. Or the realization that he was in love with a merc he barely knew. No. It wouldn’t be that easy. Wasn’t that easy. He wouldn’t be **here** otherwise, trying to outdrink his liver. Johnny tossed his drink down, reality beginning to swirl, and inhaled through gritted teeth. 

**_“Run the plan by me again.”_ **

**_“Thought I was the one going senile.”_ **

**_“Just shut up and tell me.”_ **

**_“Fine. The buyer’s a high-ranking gonk from Militech. He obviously wants ‘Saka gone like we do and he’s willing to pay for it with a load of eddies. But he’s running out of patience—he’s got some other plan to topple them so our window’s getting smaller.”_ **

**_“You didn’t give a damn ‘bout what I said last time it seems. We’ve already tried Militech and look where that landed me.”_ **

**_“I thought it wasn’t about_ ** **you,** **_Johnny? Isn’t even about us. Thought it was about the people? About Night City? Besides, we won’t be leading a charge this time. Time’s changed. Militech only needs one final push to get Arasaka out. This data will help them.”_ **

**_“Just sounds like you want to take the easy way out. Suck a corpo cock once again.”_ **

**_“Fuck you, Johnny. You think I have to sit here and shoot shit with you? I could’ve sold them this already—don’t forget that.”_ **

**_“And you haven’t because why? Your feelings about me? Stop spewing lies. You’re a pussy and you need me to make a decision, to take charge, like you did fifty years ago.”_ **

Decisions. He knew why he couldn’t make them anymore, couldn’t make this one. At first, it’d just been regret and relief. His attack on Arasaka Tower hadn’t only landed him in deep shit but also killed thousands of innocents. The very same people he’d hoped to liberate. Then, he found out that a certain merc’s attack on Mikoshi had crippled the corp’s standing in Night City until they were on the verge of collapse. But those feelings were nothing compared to what he felt now. 

Worry. He was worried that this choice may take away his happiness...his love. V—a strange, mysterious, ridiculous woman that he loved. An emotion he hasn’t felt since Alt, yet even that paled in comparison to what he felt for V. He was in love with her. He didn’t want to disappoint her, didn’t want to lose her; hasn’t he already done those things to so many others? 

Telling Rogue to go ahead with this plan, as slight as it may seem, would do that. It wasn’t like he could avoid telling her forever. 

Johnny knew her thoughts about Arasaka, knew she wanted to close that chapter and shelve it forever. After all, it’d gotten her choom killed. Hell, nearly zeroed her multiple fucking times. It wasn’t up for discussion what’d she think if she found out he was planning to dive back into it all. No matter what Rogue said, things won’t be as simple as a little transaction. Corps didn’t fuck around—he’d either lose his life or, worse, sell it. Like Rogue has done. 

Simplest thing, really, would be to leave. Leave V, leave this mess behind and leave Night City. Leave his past, his rebellions aside. But he _couldn’t_ and, fuck, did that grate him. Johnny stubbed his cig on the ashtray the bartender had provided and waved his fingers for another drink. 

Swirls. The world was swirling. He shut his eyes. Thank hell the alcohol was kicking in. A familiar song was blasting, one of the new ones from _Us Cracks_ —that weird band both Kerry and V liked—he bobbed his head to the music. The liquor high wasn’t going to last. He needed something stronger. Maybe that popular chem on the street? What the hell was it called—

“Hey.” A smooth, low voice snapped him from his intoxicated lull and Johnny pried open an eye. A fuzzy outline of blue took a seat on the stool beside him. He opened both eyes. Hazed clarity offered up a Black man dressed in a tight navy shirt and black pleather pants. Light blue dreadlocks brushed his broad shoulders, framing a silver-dusted face. 

Pretty. 

“Hey yourself.” He said, facing the man. “Whaddaya want?”

The man cocked a brow. “Bit forward aren’t you? And by forward I mean rude.” 

He smiled, to soften the comment, and Johnny’s head swam. The hell was he doing? 

“Always thought that did the trick.” The bartender returned with his drink and Johnny took a slow sip, watching the man. 

“And what trick is that?” He asked in return after he ordered. 

“Obviously to find out what people... _want._ ”

“Don’t quite look like you’re going to be able to give anyone what they want by the look of you. You drink a bit fast.” 

“So you’re admitting you’ve been watchin’ me?” 

“Perhaps.” He leaned forward. “You look familiar.” 

“Bad pickup line, choom.” Johnny replied slowly. The man wore some sort of cologne that cut over the scent of alcohol, heady and spicy. “Can’t say the same of you.” 

“Oh, I’m nobody so that doesn’t surprise me. You, other hand, I think I’ve figured out. You’re Johnny Silverhand—I heard you’ve returned to the land of the living. You look good, for an old man.” 

“Suppose so.” Johnny paused, taking another gulp of his tequila. Shit, this _was_ good. Too good almost—the club was fuzzy at the edges. “You’re not a groupie, are you?” 

The man took a sip of his drink, a yellow concoction that glowed like neon lights. His gaze lidded. “And...if I said I was?” 

Johnny fell silent, reading the man’s intentions. An age since he’s bedded a man. An age since he’s bedded anyone else beside V—a record, honestly. He wasn’t exactly the monogamous, commitment type. Rogue could attest to that. He never did relationships right, not that he was quite sure he was even in one. Admissions aside, he nor V’s ever titled each other anything. They were more than simple fuckbuddies or chooms. It wasn’t that simple; what he felt for her, what they had, transcended labels. 

But, _fuck,_ did he feel like shit. He needed something. Anything. So, Johnny didn’t move when the man leaned even further forward, close enough to—

A ring in his ears and then “Never Fade Away” began blasting. V’s contact song. He pulled back with a shake of his head. 

“Not interested.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


NOVEMBER 11TH 2078 - 12:35 AM 

Shutting the door behind her, V drew out from her bedroom and back onto the balcony, dialing as she went. Her hands shook, nearly pitching her holo over the rail as she leaned against it. 

Johnny. She needed to call Johnny. 

His contact image appeared in her vision, a photo of him she took herself. The Rockerboy, smirking, stared at the camera with his ax in hand amidst a backdrop of gold-gilded pines and a slate-tiled roof. She’d taken that the day after their cyberpsycho fiasco at Sherrywood, on her 29th birthday. He’d played her a song, his voice cracking slightly as he sang for her a sample of what he wrote during their time on tour. 

His openness, his tenderness—she needed that now. The call rang once, twice, then thrice, before Johnny’s face flickered onto screen. 

His face blank, he stared at her. “What?” 

V opened her mouth, noting the dark booth behind him. “Where are you?” 

“It matter? Whaddya want V? I’m a bit busy.”

“Are you, because your voice’s slurring.” She snapped. Right, he was being an asshole again. And apparently a drunk one this time. 

“Like I said, busy. And if you don’t mind, I’d let to get back to what I was doing.” 

Heat pricking her eyes, V swallowed and glanced away for a second. 

“...V? You alright?” Johnny’s voice softened a touch and she forced her gaze back to his. 

Be honest. _If he isn’t going to be honest, at least you can be._ “No. Something’s come up. I need you back here.”

“Yeah, sure. It’ll take me a second to flag a driver but I’ll be back soon. Wait–”

“No. Don’t. I’ll come get you instead. Where are you?” It was a bad idea; she didn’t, couldn’t, completely believe the man that called himself her brother but she couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t talk to Johnny with him in the next room. V doubted he’ll wake tonight anyway. The medicine she’d given him had been laced, offering her several hours to figure out if he’d been telling her the truth or not. 

_Lucien. My baby brother._

“Lizzie’s Bar. It’s in Watson.”

“I know where it is. What the hell are doing there? Forget it. I’ll be there in ten, meet me outside.” She ended the call without a confirmation and rubbed her face. This wasn’t the time for a breakdown. Pick up Johnny, tell him the situation, and then decide what the hell she was going to do next. 

One step at a time. 

————

A familiar bouncer gave her a grin as she pulled the Porsche up the entrance of Lizzie’s. Her perfect sharp eyeliner crinkled and she dropped her bat, leaning against it, as she eyed V. 

“Haven’t shown up in a while, Reaper. It cause Judy isn’t here anymore?” 

“Something like that. I’m just here to pick up a friend.” 

“Oh yeah, and who’s that?”

“Lanky man with a silver arm, ring any bells?” 

“Oh, yeah. He came in like an hour ago already smelling like a bar. He your input?” 

“Nothing that simple.” She said, shrugging, when the doors behind the Mox slid open. The Rockerboy ambled through, only a tad unsteady on his feet, and a thrill of relief ran through her at the sight of him. “There he is. Get the hell in, Johnny.”

“Quit your hollering.” He snapped back, prying open the door and climbing in. V wrinkled her nose. He smelled like booze and cigs again. Guess she was lucky he wasn’t also covered in lipstick. 

“I’ll see you around, Reaper.” The Mox called over Johnny’s head, raising her weapon again. 

She waved a goodbye, scooting the car out of the lot and onto the road. Neither of them spoke for several minutes as V cruised slowly through Watson. Blues filled the space instead, velvety and soothing. It wasn’t until she stopped at a red light leading away from her apartment that Silverhand decided to speak up. 

“Where we headin’?” 

“Anywhere but home.” 

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you when we arrive. It’s a long story. Instead, why don’t you tell me why you were drinking at Lizzie’s, of all places.” 

“Rather not.”

“Fine.” What little calm she’s managed to acquire on the drive disintegrated into dust. Johnny’s been out here drinking while she’s been sitting at home worrying about him. The moodiness and reservation he’s had since they returned to the city...the behavior that stirred up all the insecurities she had about their relationship. About his feelings for her. About her feelings for him. Everything just kicks up silt and murks the bond between them. Not for the first time, V wished she could still feel his emotions bleeding into hers. 

And then there was...Lucien. Or not-Lucien and his crazy pleading. 

God, was **everything** simpler when she was actively dying? 

She turned right, pulling the Porsche into the empty space she’s parked in a thousand times, and shut off the engine. 

“Please tell me we’re not going to Misty’s.” Johnny groaned. 

“Not exactly.” V paused, “What’s wrong with Misty? You only remember meeting her once.” 

The two had stopped at the Esoterica before heading on Kerry’s tour. As far as she recalled, the Rockerboy had barely spoken with Misty. 

“And I’m glad. Last time we were here she tried to pull me into a reading.” 

“Ah, I forgot about that. How is that a mark against her?”

“Seriously, V? When the hell did I buy into that sort of bullshit? Never. That’s when.” 

“Unbeliever.”

“Yeah, yeah. Forgot you’re Miss No-Violence-Because-A-Monk-Told-Me-To.” 

V stilled, staring at Johnny. “What did you just say?”

He blinked at her. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised at her reaction or what he said. “...A flash—I got one recently. Of you talking to this chromed-out monk about rescuing his brother. Didn’t kill a single gonk.” 

“I—you didn’t tell me.” It came out as a whisper and she nearly forgot herself and touched him. Her hand fell back into her lap. 

Johnny shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “They rarely make much sense anyhow. We movin’?”

“Right.” She swallowed, clambering out. She forgot that he was still seeing things from their shared time together. Rarely, but still. It usually made her so happy to hear, yet, could it be the reason why he’s been acting so distant? He didn’t like what he saw? It was ironic to think the same memories she’d wish he’d recall pushed him away from her instead. 

Her chest ached. _Please, not him._

V crossed her arms, making for the gate that led to Viktor’s clinic. But instead of heading down the stairs or up to Misty’s, she strode for the elevator. The doors opened with a squeak and she realized she hasn’t been up to the roof since Johnny woke up. The Rockerboy certainly hasn’t. A sour note filled her mouth—of course he won’t remember their moment up there. Of blood and pills and a single gun. Of a sunrise that wasn't quite so bright. Maybe she should be glad he didn’t but she wasn’t. A pang of loneliness hit her. Such a hard memory to recall by herself. 

She tightened her hold on herself as the elevator brought them to the top floor. _At least he remembered the night before meeting Hanako._

“Why are we here, V?” Johnny asked as they stepped out on the roof. “You not plannin’ to push me off, are you?”

“Shut up, Johnny.” The space was as well-used as always, half-eaten snacks strewn across the concrete and worn, cheap furniture facing the bright skyline. Everything was like that night, except for the couch she and Misty had wrangled up here one day. It was a comfortable loveseat and great for a nap. She’d used it a couple of times when she couldn’t stand being in her old apartment or at the clinic staring at a prone Johnny. She was happy to see it still in decent condition. 

V took a seat, sinking into the brown cushions with a sigh. In the distance, a fancy AV rumbled past a flashing, nearly-nude celebrity sponsoring a candy bar. Night City, at its finest. As good a view as any to ruminate about tonight. Just...not yet. “You recall anything, being up here?” 

“Am I ‘pose to?” Johnny responded, falling beside her. He tucked his arms behind his neck and stared out into the city. “All I’m gettin’ is that that’s one hell of a view. ‘Sides the Arasaka sign anyway.” 

With a disappointed eye roll and only a bit of hesitancy, V leaned against Johnny’s shoulder. “We were up here once, deciding what to do about Mikoshi. I was real close to dying so we actually had to make a decision for once. It was so weird—I spent those weeks of December doing everything. Trying everything. Just so I didn’t have to think about my mortality. But, like clockwork, after I met with Hanako, everything came falling down.” 

“I remember you saying something about that.” Johnny shifted, curling an arm over her. She sunk into him with a small smile. “You telling me we got another one of those? Life or death type shit?” 

“Dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not sure yet.”

“Spit it out, V.”

“Stop rushing me. You don’t see me badgering _you._ ”

He shot her a pointed look that she didn’t see but felt. After a second or two, V cleared her throat. “Someone came by tonight, after I got home. A man. He called himself Lucien.”

“Not ringing a bell. Tell me that isn’t an ex-input or somethin’.” 

“Why? Think you couldn’t match up?” She teased. 

“With this impressive cock? You’re joking.” 

“Gross. Anyway, no. He’s not an ex. Not even close. Lucien’s the name of my brother. My dead brother.”

“Wait. You’re telling me you not only have a brother but he’s dead? Didn’t think to mention that before, huh.” 

“Neither of us likes talking about our past.” V pointed out, jabbing him. “Besides, it didn’t matter before. He was dead and, now, he isn’t.”

“You can’t possibly believe him.”

“I don’t. Not really. But...he looks like him. Sort of. He has my eyes. Or, well, his own. Looked like mind before I replaced them with these implants.”

Johnny tugged away slightly to consider her face. “What color were they?”

“Hazel.”

“Mm, they’d fit I guess.” 

She snorted, prodding him back into place. “Whatever. That’s not important. What’s important is that he also explained everything. Including how he’d survived and why he’s suddenly shown up.” 

————

AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO

The man claiming to be her brother stumbled into the living room and onto the couch, hands up. “Is that really necessary?”

V waved her Overture. “Better start talking so it isn’t.” 

“Fine. Like I said, I’m Lucien Basnet. Your younger brother.” 

“It’s easy to figure out my last name if you dig hard enough, not to mention my brother’s. Who I buried—so you’re going to have to do better than that.” 

“And I’m obviously not who you buried is it, Valerie? I was shot, left for dead, but someone rescued me. A woman called Hannah. She tried to call for help but I refused, because I knew whoever tried to kill me might come back. She took me in, nursed me back to health.”

“And? How come you didn’t call me?” V wasn’t going to bother asking him why he didn’t call their parents; if he was truly Lucien, he’d understand. On a good day, their parents had thought of them as heirs to what remained of their fortune. Heirs deserve some care, some adoration. But on a bad day, they were little more than pawns in the corpo game. It was why neither of them had decided to investigate Lucien’s death, despite the marred corpse only identifiable by the tattered remains of his clothes. They’d known who killed him and why. Or, they had thought they had. V’s protests had done nothing to reverse their stubborn, cold-blooded decision. 

The stranger gazed down at his hands, shaking his head. “Would you, if you found out you could start anew? Start without our family’s name dragging us through the dirt, fucking up our lives anymore?” 

V slowly lowered her gun. “And me? Did you ever think about the sister who thought you murdered?” 

“I thought you would be better off without me.” He replied flatly. “You know why.”

She did. The days leading up to his death, she had promised him that she would take him away. Once she was legal, she’d leave with him and never turn back. And that was exactly what she did, except without him. Because he’d ‘died.’ “...Why are you here now, then?” 

A glimmer of suspicion in his eyes as he stared back up at her. “You believe me?”

“For now, I just want to know why you’re here.”

“Like I said. I need your help.” He grimaced, pressing his hand to his side. “Wait, do you have something for this?”

V squatted in front of him. He was wearing a dark blue suit, the white dress shirt stained with dried blood. He parted the jacket at her prompting and revealed a massive stain, still wet and crimson. “Didn’t think the blood was from you.”

“Not all of it. A round hit me. Luckily, it went clean through.”

“Here.” She handed him a MaxDoc and, keeping him in her peripherals, she grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen drawers. “Keep talking.”

“U-ugh.” Maybe-Lucien groaned quietly as he unbuttoned his shirt just enough to press a fistful of gauze onto his wound. “I want to commission you.”

“A job.” She said flatly, “You’re here for a job?” 

“It’s not that simple. I need you to kill Harrison Vuong.”

The name rang a bell and V racked through her memories for the face that belonged to it. There _, that gala. A knowing smirk on a brown face._ “The Militech Counterintelligence Head?”

“Yes.” He replied, looking only faintly surprised. “He is my boss. Correction, _was,_ as of an hour ago.”

“You...were a counterintelligence agent?” A chuckle bubbled out of her throat. Holy shit—even apart they managed to get themselves into the same shit. Maybe this man really was her brother. 

She wished her scan had worked. His background was locked behind a wall of ICE—only his name was visible. Landon Reyes, not Lucien Basnet. Not that she expected it to be.

“Why is that funny?” He demanded when she finally finished laughing. 

“Doesn’t matter. Why do you want him dead?”

“Aside from the fact that he wants me dead, you mean?”

“Corp politics is rarely that simple. I need to know the whole story before I make a decision I regret. And if that happens, brother or not, I’ll take you down with me.” 

He held her stony gaze and, after a tense silence, sighed, “It’s complicated. I worked as an undercover agent for Militech, infiltrating gangs. I posed as a Valentino that changed sides two years ago. Joined the Tyger Claws.” 

“Why?”

“Vuong wanted me to investigate the connections of the gangs to corps in Night City. The connections everyone knows they have but don’t bother making.”

“Too dangerous.”

“Right. I was working with the Valentinos but then, like I said, a little over a year ago Vuong changed my operation—find out what ties the Tyger Claws had with Arasaka.” 

A chill went down V’s spine. Arasaka. That fucking name. Everything came back to them. “And?”

“I got myself pretty high and stumbled on some good information. Then, the day before yesterday, Harrison contacted me to return to base. Told me I had twenty-four hours to pull myself out before he has someone deliver the things I learned to Maelstrom, Valentinos, and 6th Street.” 

“He wants to start a gang war.” V said, blinking. 

“He thinks that the information I have means that the Tyger Claws _are_ Arasaka’s last true hold on Night City and getting rid of them will get the corp out for good.” 

“And Militech can’t overtly incite anything without getting into deep shit.” 

“Yeah.” 

_“Fuck.”_

————

NOVEMBER 11TH 2078 - 1:03 AM

V finished telling Johnny her account of the night, including maybe-Lucien’s eventual faltering that’d led her to bandaging the man’s wound, drugging him to sleep, and then dragging him onto her bed. The Rockerboy was quivering with tension, feet tapping against the table before them, and she moved away, leaning her elbows on her knees. 

Minutes ticked by before her patience finally ran out.

“Say something.” 

“The fuck am I supposed to say?” He snapped, jumping to his feet and pacing. “You’re not even sure if he’s telling the truth. Not to mention how big of a shit-show this is.” 

“I thought you’d be a little happy about this.” V pointed out. “It means taking down Arasaka.” 

“Yeah? How? By wiping out half the city with some ridiculous war? Think I did enough of that fifty years ago.” 

“I’m glad to hear you sound reasonable for once.” 

“Screw you, V. And you just left this gonk in the house?”

“Drugged ‘till the inch of death, Johnny. ‘Sides, with Militech on his ass he isn’t going to go anywhere, do anything.” 

“You do know he could be a spy? He’s already said he was a suit. For all we know, he could be gearing up to take you out. Zero us both.” 

“And why didn’t he do it already? You think I haven’t thought about this? I’m not stupid. I can’t say I’m a hundred percent sure, but I don’t think he’s lying. He’s desperate. Wounded. And why make up a story like that? Not only is he claiming to be my brother but he’s also saying that ridiculous shit. Shit I normally wouldn’t touch within a thousand yards.”

“Fuck’s sake. V.” Johnny growled, “Don’t. Don’t do it. We should go back and kick his ass to the curb right now.”

“It’s not that simple!” She jumped to her feet, glaring at him. “Have you been listening to me at all? He’s claiming to be my baby brother and, yeah, I may be an idiot for believing him, but I can’t just let him get zeroed without finding out the truth. I already let him die once, I can’t let him die again.” 

An overwhelmed sob tore from her and V hung her head. Her breaths were frantic, her heart stuttering. Lucien—the only thing in her family she ever cared about. If what he said was true, she can’t let him go. Not when, this time, she can change the outcome. Not even if Johnny Silverhand disagreed, disapproved. 

A frustrated exhale had her lifting her head but, suddenly, Johnny’s arms were around her. He pulled her in close, hands digging into her back. “...It’s okay, V. It’s okay.”

His gentle tone completely destroyed her defenses and tears spilled down her cheeks, wetting his shirt. She bathed in the scent of him. He was here. Everything was going to be fine because he was here. 

His fingers traced lightly down her spine. Even through her sweater, the touch felt open and intimate. This, this was what she’s wanted all night. V drew back and stared up at Johnny. An affectionate expression softened the lines of his face and the twist of his lips. He brought his chrome hand to her face, caressing the curve of her jaw. 

Yes. 

More.

She tugged him into a light kiss. Just a press of lips to lips. But soon, V found herself deepening it. Her tongue stroked lazily against his, exploring the familiar heat of his mouth, as her hand splayed against his chest. He let her do so, but, to her disappointment, didn’t react with equal intensity. 

“Kiss me back.” She murmured as they parted. 

“V...are you sure?” 

“Please, Johnny. I don’t want to talk anymore. Just hold me.” 

Johnny made a defeated sound but grabbed her. 

His teeth snagged her ear, harsh breath weakening her knees, and bit down the sensitive line of her neck. A fierce bite on her collarbone, a sweep of his hands under her sweater and across her ribs. Each touch sunk pleasure into her. 

A burgeoning ache started in her very core and she captured his mouth again, desperate for him. Her fingers tugged at his shirt and brushed against the hair that covered his abdomen. 

She followed it down to the tops of his pants, teasing, and Johnny groaned into her. _“Minx.”_

Her breathless laugh faded as he tugged off his shirt and then hers, before pressing them together, skin against skin—burning away the fall chill. She mouthed his chest, nails raking across his nipples, and unbuckled his belt. He hummed and grabbed her ass. 

“You really wanna fuck here? Anyone could walk in on us.” The roughness in his voice belied his warning and she palmed him, happy to feel the hardness that pressed against her.

“Pussy.”

“Speaking of…” Johnny pulled down her shorts and her underwear in one go. The breeze feathered against her and, dazedly, she retreated into him. But he didn’t even hesitate as he reached down and shoved his fingers into her. 

V moaned at the sudden intrusion, squirming, and nearly dropped as her knees began to shake. Johnny pushed her against the back of the couch instead and forced her ass up into the air. Fuck, the show she must be giving—

The thought cut off as the Rockerboy ground his fingers deeper into her, curling against _that_ spot. Her mind blanked, content to just feel. Each push, each scrape drove her madder and madder. Longing battered her hard. She found herself trembling, nipples chafing against the cushions. 

“Slut. You’re so fucking wet.” 

“Fuck, Johnny.” She moaned in response. Every inch of her was sensitive. His mouth trailed fire along her back and up to her shoulder. He grabbed her breasts with his steel hand and she nearly collapsed as the coolness burned her hotter. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Needed him.

And, as if he read her mind, Johnny’s hand retreated and clinked against what had to be his belt. V shivered in anticipation, even as his other hand continued their relentless drive into her. Her cunt clenched around him and the low sound in his throat nearly unraveled her.

His fingers yanked out from her and she barely had time to bemoan the emptiness when the head of his cock nudged against her opening. “Want this?” 

V nodded too fast, too eagerly, into the couch. She couldn’t speak. Her heart was racing with want. 

A push. He sank into her slightly and she moaned hard. But then he retreated, leaving her hips pressing back to no avail. The Rockerboy was holding her too tightly in place. “J-Johnny!” 

“Beg me.” He purred, running a finger through the soaking slit of her. It skimmed wetness onto her thighs before rubbing roughly against her aching clit. It was gone before she could grind harder against it.

V cried, “You dick.” 

_“Beg.”_

“Why do you always do this?” She exhaled shakily.

“Because you need to learn to give up. I know you want to.”

“You’re the same way.” She shot back, pushing a hand between her legs. The relief it gave her nearly undid her. 

“And I give up to you just fine.” Johnny grabbed her arm. “Stop playing with yourself.” 

“I hate you.”

“Say it.”

V squeezed her eyes shut. “ _Please_ just fuck me.” 

Johnny didn’t need more prompting. 

He drove into her with a satisfied grunt and V sobbed, suddenly undone. The orgasm racked her hard and grew only more acute as Johnny fucked her through it. Senseless pleas spilled out of her but the Rockerboy didn’t stop. 

She didn’t want him to.

The fire in her blazed anew and she was coming again, weakness racing from her cunt to her limbs. Johnny’s hard grip was the one thing that kept her up, kept her in reality. 

He was so hard. His chest brushed her back and his hair fell onto hers. Each of his harsh pants raced more arousal through her and she sagged, overwhelmed. Johnny only thrusted harder. Deeper. 

It wasn’t long until he was tight with tension, his cock even stiffer within her. 

_“Shit, I—”_

“Come for me, baby.” V whispered, grabbing his arm and digging her nails into it. He groaned at the pleasurable pain, which soon dissolved into a gasp as he came. 

Her eyelids fluttered close as Johnny sank against her. Wordlessly, he pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder and, then and there, V knew things would work out as long as he stayed by her side.

They had to.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts!


	3. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coldness seeped through her shirt—Johnny pulling her to him. She let him hold her, grateful for his usual moody silence, as Viktor slid the samples into the DNA device. 
> 
> A beep. A flicker of light from the screen. Held breaths and blanked expressions. The click of mechanical fingers against plastic. A hum from Viktor. A barely audible swallow from V. The Rockerboy’s grip on her waist. Lucien’s frown. 
> 
> A faint exhale from Viktor as he finally pulled away from the machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! Mostly dialogue but it is a transitional episode! 
> 
> Have fun!

3 Clarity

NOVEMBER 11TH 2078 - 5:01 AM

Night City was never really still but the scant hours before dawn felt suspended in time; like the space between the organic and the tech that built the sprawling metropolis beyond, there was a lull. It was, here, that the two spent their early morning caught between yearning and resting. Muscles aching, V rose her head to gaze at the bleeding horizon. Johnny sprawled beneath her, half-forcing her into the back of the couch they were on, a forearm over his eyes. His chest rose and fell beneath her and she wished she could stay here forever—her life, her responsibilities, forgotten. 

But that wasn’t her, not really. V didn’t shy away from stark realities. No, she ran directly into them. 

That is, after a decent helping of distractions. 

V pulled herself up over the Rockerboy. The movement jostled him and his arm fell to the side, revealing the handsome planes of his face. But her gaze snagged not on his obvious beauty, but the minute details instead. 

Lines wrinkled the corners of his eyes, the corners of his mouth—each a gentle reminder that time was catching up to him. Johnny, despite his youthful appearance, was significantly older than her. He was no longer on ice; not for the first time, nor the last, she wondered what the effects of that would be in the long run. What was his lifespan? How would his health be a month from now? A year? A decade? He was healthier than ever having gained back the weight he lost in a coma and, at her badgering, cut back on some of his vices. Not to mention the contemporary medical care he can now afford, despite his initial protests. But how long did he have? 

How long did _they_ have? 

She’s always tried to take one step at a time. The future, especially in her line of work, was never certain. December 2077, the first half of 2078—all of it only reinforced the fragility of it all. The present was what a citizen of Night City had to worry about. Anything beyond that was an afterthought.

That is until V began to feel...happy. God, what an emotion. It spurred not only one’s hope but also one’s dreams. Dreams that no longer rang completely of uncertainty or foreboding. Rather, actual euphoric fantasies. Not temporary escapes like braindances or parties. Like alcohol and drugs. No. Fantasies that echoed with permanence and security. 

Hell, she wasn’t the classic ‘picket fence, two kids, and a dog’ woman, but the idea of living her life out, comfortable and _relatively_ peaceful, with a person that knew her in and out? **That** was what she couldn’t stop wishing for. 

But like any other fantasy, V knew her dream wasn’t real. Reality was so much darker, so much more possible. 

She kissed Johnny’s brow, whispering against his skin, “Get up, lazy ass.”

“Fuck off.” He grumbled immediately but held her tight, pushing her back down. “Go back to sleep.”

Her lips twitched. “We can’t. I already let you convince me to stay for hours now. I just checked the feeds—our prisoner’s up and awake.”

“...Damn it.” Johnny’s eyes slowly opened and V rolled off of him, swinging her legs onto the ground and reaching for her discarded shorts. She shook some dust and crumbs from it to the Rockerboy’s disgruntled mumbling. “I hope the gonk leaves and I can get some actual shut-eye.” 

“What, the shitty couch not good enough for you?”

“Do I even need to answer that?” 

“Grouch.” V tossed Johnny’s shirt at him and flicked open the feeds that monitored the interior of her apartment. Her living room materialized before her, offering a clear view of her bedroom door. As she watched, maybe-Lucien stepped groggily through it. He looked better than when she’d left him—more alert and significantly less weary—as he gazed uneasily around the room. “Think he’s realized I’m not home.”

“What’s he doin’?” 

“Looking around. Oh, he noticed the camera—guess he isn’t as big of a gonk as I thought.” V turned on the camera’s attached mic as the man began mouthing. 

“‘I got your note—I’m trusting you. I hope you’re on your way back.’” She repeated his words back to Johnny, who rolled his eyes. 

He finished lacing his boots and pushed to his feet. “Let’s get this over with.” 

————

“Does he know I’m with you?” Johnny asked abruptly, breaking the quiet that’d followed them from the parking garage and up to V’s floor. She peered around the corner and, satisfied that it was empty, made for her door. 

“I told him I live with my partner. And it’s not like he didn’t notice the photos.” After their return to Night City, she had decorated the apartment with some pictures of them. One, in particular, was a blown up version of the pair sitting on a concert stage, shoulder to shoulder as V watched Johnny tune a guitar. Their smiles, nearly mirrors of one another, had pricked her heart—what they had, magically captured by someone else’s eyes. Anyone who saw that photo would know instantly that they _were_ partners, romantic or otherwise. 

“That what we are?” Johnny asked finally as they stopped outside her apartment. 

“When I can stand you, we are.” V activated her camera feed—maybe-Lucien was on the sofa, leaning nervously on his knees. He’d retrieved his iron from the end table in her room where she’d deposited it hours ago and was holding it loosely—guess he didn’t trust her **that** much. Good. She expected as much from a man that claimed to be an ex-Counterintelligence agent. “Okay, he’s sitting in there. Keep your Malorian out, just in case he’s been a lying fuck the whole time.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Let’s go.”

She nodded and strode through the entryway. Lucien jumped to his feet as she walked into the living room. His eyes flashed warily as he caught sight of Johnny but he lowered the gun to his side, taking a careful step towards her. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” She said, taking a seat. Johnny watched her ‘brother’ scan the entrance, searching for an ambush no doubt, before leaning against the kitchen counter. His Malorian glinted in the light, a subtle warning that Lucien noticed. He holstered his pistol as a gesture of goodwill and stood across from her, keeping both of them in his line of vision. 

“You must be Johnny Silverhand.” The man said carefully, scanning the Rockerboy. “I’m Lucien Basnet, Valerie’s brother.” 

_Oh, shit._ V winced. Johnny probably didn’t remember Clouds and, if he didn’t recall Clouds, he won’t recall—

“ _Valerie?_ Is that what V’s short for?” Johnny asked incredulously. “Feels like I just discovered a dirty secret.” 

“Shut up, Johnny. Not a word.” 

Maybe-Lucien raised a brow. “My bad. You go by V now right? Or is Reaper more appropriate?” 

“The former.” She snapped, crossing her arms. “We have something more important to discuss. I thought over your situation—there’s more to it, isn’t there? Counterintel agents aren’t exactly Night City’s guardian angels.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s saying that you suits don’t normally give a shit about the common people.” Johnny interceded. “Looking at you now, I agree wholeheartedly.” 

“Neither of you know anything about what I do or don’t care for.”

“This isn’t a matter of debate, _Lucien._ If you know my reputation, you know I’m meticulous. It’s what helps me get jobs done right. So, **nothing’s** going to be done until everything’s out in the open. You won’t get another nap break. Think otherwise? Get a fucking a fixer.” 

Maybe-Lucien glared at her. If this man was truly her brother, it won’t take long before he falters. She was always the more stubborn and temperate one, even after all these years. Some things didn’t change. Of course, that is assuming this man is the boy of her memories—she won’t know for certain unless she found a competent netrunner or, more simply, did a DNA test. So what if he adopted her brother’s identity? So what if he had the Basnet eyes? It wasn’t hard to forge any of those things. 

“...Fine.” He exhaled and took a seat by the window across from V. “Silverhand’s right.” 

“Usually am.” Both of them ignored said asshole’s quip. 

“This isn’t about the war nor is it even about my personal vendetta against Vuong. It’s because my dumbass decided to fall in love.” 

“Fuck’s sake.” Johnny groaned. “You’re tellin’ us you’re here cause of a chick?” 

“A man.” Lucien corrected darkly. “Who refuses to leave the city with me. But I can’t let him die, idiot or not. You’re telling me you would let my sister die?”

“You don’t know shit about us, brat.” 

“Know enough from these pictures that you care about h—”

V sighed, “ _Enough._ What does this guy have to do with this whole thing? He’s a Claw?”

“Yes, the son of Haruma Matsuda—one of the three big bosses in the gang. He’s loyal to the organization and refuses to leave it behind.” Lucien paused, looking bitter. “Even for me.”

“And? You couldn’t just hire someone to kidnap him and wash your hands of this mess?”

“It isn’t that simple. The Claws know I’m a double-agent. They’ll be on high alert.” V gaped at him. Was he really telling her that not only was Militech after him, but the Tyger Claws too? “After Vuong told me about the deadline, I hacked into the Militech database and retrieved everything pertaining to my operation. Every fucking file. Every leverage he needed to start fires.”

“You managed to get through all that ICE?” She demanded. 

“I had high clearance—I worked under Vuong since I first entered the corporation. But yeah, I’m also a decent netrunner, and after I stole the data, I went to warn Haruma, warn Aoi—his son.” 

“And things didn’t go well.” Johnny said flatly. 

Lucien swallowed and glanced down at his hands. “No. Haruma shot me, told me I was a traitor but that I’ll have twenty-four hours before sending his lackeys to hunt me down. He didn’t even say shit about the information.” 

V hummed, “Doubt he wanted to admit the Claws’ involvement with Arasaka but he’ll be scheming something. There’s nothing these gangers hate more that pigs and Militech pigs are the worst of them. But why did he let you off so easily?”

“Aoi. He asked his father to spare me, out of what ‘loyalty and achievements I helped the Claws attain.’” 

“Bullshit.” Johnny said, “If he’s as high-ranked as you claim, I doubt he has such a bleeding heart.” 

“...I agree. I think he knew his son felt something for you and will probably use it against him. Keep him loyal or…”

Pain twisted Lucien’s mouth and she knew. That single grimace screamed ‘the truth’—at least, about the reason behind his plea for help. The man was in love and completely desperate. “I know. We never advertised our relationship but—”

“I get it.” V stopped him quietly. Brother or not, she pitied him; she’s had her own fair share of mixing work with pleasure—organizations like corps and gangs, she imagined, weren’t very different when it came to sentiment. They sniffed feelings out like bloodhounds because affections were very much leveraged the higher up one was. “I just don’t know what you expect me to do. Killing Vuong might not prevent anything. There’s too much we don’t know—what the whole of Militech thinks of starting a gang war, what the Claws are planning now that they know, and more.” 

“Everything I’ve heard about you claims that you take nothing but risks. This should be nothing to you.” 

“She’s not a pussy, if that’s what you’re trying to say.” Johnny drawled. “But even the bravest gonks need a plan and you don’t exactly have one for her.” 

Lucien clenched and unclenched his fists, racking for a convincing answer. 

The two glanced at each other—V uncertain and Johnny scornful. The Rockerboy was obviously unconvinced and very much enjoying maybe-Lucien’s helplessness. But, beneath his usual disdain, V sensed something else. 

He didn’t want her to take this gig—at all. 

Why? 

It couldn’t be because it was reckless or dangerous. He’s never been overprotective of her safety, even when he’d been in her head. Johnny was confident in her ability to handle herself, to make the right decision. Well, he’s certainly never said otherwise. He also wasn’t a cushy, romantic guy—V doubted he’s been entertaining anything remotely close to her thoughts on the future. It certainly wasn’t because of Lucien’s uncertain identity, though it was a claim that he’s already dismissed several times. 

And if this man did, on the off chance, turn out to be her brother and, thus, make her feel obligated to help him, the Rockerboy should care less about the whole thing. Hell, he’d probably be more inclined to help her; he, himself, _has_ done plenty of shit for a relationship. 

Not to mention, screwing with a megacorp was any anarchist’s wet dream. For former-terrorist Johnny Silverhand, who’s been ambitionless, this should be something he was _eager_ to jump into. Except, since she brought this up on the roof, he’s been steadily saying “no.” 

Something was up. Was it related to his recent behavior? His recent secrecy? But how? Amnesiac as he was, there was no way he could’ve predicted maybe-Lucien.

_Unless there are more flashes that he’s been hiding from me._

“It’s not much, but there’s a Militech board meeting this evening. Vuong said that the decision to release the information will be decided then—he seemed confident—but, now, without it, the topic of conversation will no doubt be different. It may be a chance for us to find out just how much support Vuong has.” Lucien said finally. 

Johnny snorted, “That’s a steaming pile of nothing. You can’t possibly be considering this, V. We don’t even know if he’s telling the truth about who he is.”

“Why would I possibly be lying about who I am at this point?”

“It’s a little convenient, don’t you think? A long-lost, dead brother shows up to Night City’s best merc and begs her for help, plucking at her heartstrings.” 

“Johnny,” V interposed, “Why are _you_ so dead set against this?” 

“Because this whole thing’s fucked! We don’t know who he is, we don’t know the fuck Militech wants, and you really want to start more shit with the Claws?”

“Are you really Silverhand, because the Silverhand I know jumped into Arasaka tower and nuked the place.” Lucien snapped at Johnny before turning his infuriated gaze to V. “Please, V. I don’t know who else to turn to. You’re the best I have. And yes, maybe I think you’d be more likely to help me because I **am** your brother—I’ll do anything to prove it.” 

She pinched her eyes shut, abruptly exhausted. This was ridiculous—just yesterday, she was just going about her usual routine and, now, her entire life was being upended. For once, she wished Night City could just be boring. How did she keep getting herself sucked into these things—events that only garnered chaos, infamy, and confusion? 

_One step at a time, V._

“Alright. Fine. First thing’s first, I need to verify who you are. I can’t get myself roped into this much shit without a legitimate reason. If you really are Lucien, then I’ll consider it. A ripperdoc I know can help with that.” 

“V, you aren’t serious—”

“Just _shut up,_ Johnny. If this bothers you so badly, you don’t have to get involved. I never said you had to.” She snapped. God was she tired of his blatant refusals and constant secrecy. 

The Rockerboy threw up his hands. “Fine! Do whatever the fuck you want then. Just don’t come crying to me about it when it all goes to shit!” He stormed past them and out onto the balcony, slamming the door shut behind him. V stared at his back through the glass, torn between pride and guilt, but decided to deal with the matter at hand, instead. 

“...Tell me about this board meeting. I need everything about it—including the location, the suits involved, and whatever dirt you have on them.” 

“Of course.” Lucien shifted uncomfortably on the couch before fixing that haunting hazel gaze on her. “Thank you, V.”

“Don’t. Just...don’t.”

* * *

  
  


NOVEMBER 11TH 2078 - 6:28 AM

Dawn streamed in through the windows, cold and faint, as V finished her sludgy coffee in a resolute silence. Though she was beyond tired, the respite from her brief nap having disappeared beneath the weight of obligation and melodrama, she was beginning to form a plan of some kind. Maybe-Lucien, who V was steadily more and more inclined to believe was actually her sibling, was showering away the evidence of his obviously traumatic night, leaving her alone to her thoughts. 

After he finished showering, she was to bring him to Viktor’s clinic for a DNA test. The ripperdoc, in the brief call she gave him, had only been informed of the tentative relationship between them and the time crunch that they were on. It was essential that V confirm Lucien’s identity—for the sake of her final decision, but more importantly, for her own peace of mind. The reality of it was beginning to hit her. A brother. She might actually have a brother who was alive and breathing, not lost in a deeply repressed past. 

_Family._ A foreign word once filled with contempt was now filled with longing. When had it transformed from something that weighed her down to something that may actually uplift her? 

River. River Ward had changed the meaning of family. Not him, specifically, but his commitment to his family—Joss, Randy, Monique, and Dorian. For a hard period, they’d functioned as _her_ family. As River’s output, they’d welcomed her with sweet, open arms. 

_And then you lost it all when you dumped him._

No. “I still have Johnny.” V whispered, clutching her mug and glancing up at the balcony door. 

The Rockerboy’s been out there for the last hour, smoking joint after joint. She could see the smoke now wafting around his dark head as he lounged against the railing. It must be cold but he was as stubborn as she was. And more prideful. 

She missed him. Missed the heat of him against her—his feverish touch, his blazing gaze; every part of Johnny was like fire. She never wanted him to burn out. But she was worried he would. Worried that whatever ate at him will one day force him into another act of fatal danger. It was frightening to imagine him gone, not just out of her head but out of her life. 

V had to get him to talk. Normally, it’d be now or later, but the near-future was uncertain and dangerous. She didn’t know, despite her earlier claim, if she could handle it all without him. Physically, she may be able to. But mentally? Emotionally? She needed him. 

Like he needed her.

They _were_ two halves of a whole, right? 

V stood, dropping her mug, and made for the balcony when her bedroom door slid open. Brushing wet locks behind his ears, her ‘brother’ stepped out. “I’m ready to go.” 

“Ah.” She paused, glancing at Silverhand’s back, before turning on her heels. “Right. Let me grab my coat and keys and we can go.” 

“Uh, you sure don’t want to…?” He gestured at the balcony. 

“It’s fine.” V replied brusquely, shoving on her coat and grabbing the Porsche keys from the counter. Maybe-Lucien nodded. He pulled on his stained suit jacket with a small grimace—his wound must still be smarting—before motioning for her to leave first. 

The two were nearly out of the apartment when the balcony door was shoved open with a screech. “V.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder as Johnny strode towards them. “We’re heading to Viktor’s.”

“I’ll come with.” 

“The Porsche won’t have enough—”

“Our choom can take whatever he took here, then.” He interrupted, glaring at Lucien. “Right?”

“...Sure. Just send me the address. I got here, I’m sure I’ll make it to this clinic fine.” 

V sighed, secretly relieved, “No, just follow us. It’s not too far. Where did you park?” 

“In the garage.”

“Then let’s go.” 

————

Johnny Silverhand watched the suit slide into a banged up sedan—obviously stolen—before turning to V, who barely gave him a glance before she turned in the direction of the parked 911. Her back painted a guarded picture, stiff and rebuff, as she walked away. His hands twitched at the sight. 

An hour in the morning chill had been enough to dampen the anger that he’d felt; all that remained was a sort of defeated pessimism. Ironic. Life was fucking ironic. The decision that he put off making for months was haunting him on a whole new level now. How was it that the Militech cunt Rogue was entertaining is the same man V was now commissioned to assassinate? Even worse, it reminded him of Alt and Arasaka. 

Alt—the woman that he dated that’d been inevitably entangled in the megacorp that he, too, had personal vendetta against. But, now, it was V and Militech. V...a woman he had no business feeling so much for. A woman who strode away from him and obviously knew he was hiding something. Who was hurt that he was, but, more importantly, who he was guilty for hurting. Over three months since they’ve confessed to one another, simultaneously a lifetime and nothing at all, and Johnny still didn’t understand _why._

Why did he feel this way? Why did she feel anything for him? Why were they together? 

All these uncertainties, yet, the only thing he felt as he stared at her lonely back was need. Sheer, utter need to touch her. To _be_ with her. 

He was sick. He had to be. If his past self, pre-engram copy, could see him now—he’d choke and die from laughing. 

“Are you getting in or what?” V demanded, stretching out of the driver seat to glare at him over the top of the car. He searched her face: the sharp draw of her brows, the startlingly silver optics, the wrinkle in her nose, the tight displeasure on her mouth. 

Johnny stepped towards her and grabbed her, lacing his fingers through hers. V regarded their interlocked hands with open surprise. “What are you doing?”

“...You sure about this, V? Going down this road?”

The merc blinked, then sighed heavily, “I’m not sure about anything, Johnny. That’s why we’re heading to Viktor’s.”

He made a sound, deep in his chest, and squatted in front of her. She fell back into the seat but didn’t flinch when he touched her knees. “It’s a high chance the suit’s your brother.” 

“Thought you thought otherwise?”

“Did. That is, ‘till I saw him. He might look different to you now but I see the resemblance between you two clear as day. If he was hotter, you’d look like twins.” 

“...I see it too, but…”

“You can’t be sure.” Johnny finished for her. Before he could stop himself, he reached forward and brushed hair away from her eyes. He found himself telling her the truth, however partial. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Surprise filled her face. “I—what do you mean?” 

“What? Head-me never said that?” 

“Not like that. I thought you knew I could handle myself.”

“Never thought otherwise but… You really gonna make me say it?”

“Say what?” 

He cradled her jaw. “Won’t lie and say I support this. It’s a mess and we both know it. You’ll dive in anyway and I can’t say I’m any different, but—fuck. I care about you, V. Even an asshole like me wants to keep...a friend safe.”

V burst out laughing, “I’m sorry, is that what I am? A friend? Didn’t realize friends fuck _and_ live together.” 

“Not like we ever talked about this. Us.”

“Don’t think we have enough words in English to describe what the hell we are.” She paused, grabbing a hold of him and pulling him in. Their mouths met with an electric spark, the strength of it singing through him. They kissed bruisingly but curtly, their breaths ragged with intensity as V drew back. A little shy, a little vulnerable, she held onto him with a quirk of her lips.“You don’t have to stay through all of it but don’t leave. If he is who he says he is, I...I’ll need your help.”

Something small and gentle unfurled in his chest. He ached at her hesitant admission, at her concrete trust. But he certainly wasn’t going to admit that. “No surprise there. You always do.”

“Dick.” 

He smirked, nudging her a little. “Move over, I’ll drive. You’re two seconds from falling over.”

V rolled her eyes and scooted, though not before giving his fingers one last squeeze. 

————

V smashed her Overture into the Claw’s face and knocked him to the grimy ground of the alleyway, cursing as she did, “Fucking idiot. He must’ve scanned you while you were walking up.”

Maybe-Lucien stared at the ganger’s prone body, face slightly pale. “I didn’t see him.”

“Obviously.” Johnny stated darkly, searching the man. “Not much of an ex-agent are you?”

“Fuck you, Silverhand.”

“Not interested, brat.”

“Guys, just shut up. Can you throw him in that bin, Johnny? He shouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.”

“Better to zero him—don’t want more of these fuckers coming around.” Johnny muttered crossly but hauled the Claw into the dumpster. Trash and fumes billowed into the air on impact and the Rockerboy skipped back with a curse. 

V wrinkled her nose. “We won’t be here long. Lucien, get down those stairs before someone else sees you.” 

Prying open the security gate, the trio stumbled into Viktor’s clinic. Said ripperdoc was in his usual spot, sunglasses and hands pointing at the screen on his desk. He turned to V with a broad smile and crossed his arms. “Can’t get you to visit without actual business, can I?” 

“Sorry, Vik. It’s been hectic.” She said with a grin of her own and stepped forward to hug him. He patted her back like a father before pushing her back to study her.

“Night City’s Dark Angel! Every fixer hounding you, huh?” 

“You’re the only one that calls me that.” V replied before turning to Johnny and maybe-Lucien with a wave of her hand. “You know Johnny. And this is...Complicated.”

“Her brother.” Lucien interjected glumly, “Just here to prove it.” 

“Right, right. Said as much on the holo. Step over here, possible-siblings.” Viktor pushed from his stool towards the table at the far-end of the room. Some sort of device—possibly a PCR machine—a tray of swabs, and petri slides were lined across the surface. The ripperdoc motioned for V to take a seat, plucking a swab from the table. “Open up.” 

The mercenary obeyed. Then it was maybe-Lucien’s turn. V’s stomach churned as she watched Viktor collect his sample. They were minutes away from finding out the truth. Over a decade since she watched her brother’s corpse burn; if this test was a match...who had she grieved over? _One step at a time._

Coldness seeped through her shirt—Johnny pulling her to him. She let him hold her, grateful for his usual moody silence, as Viktor slid the samples into the DNA device. 

A beep. A flicker of light from the screen. Held breaths and blanked expressions. The click of mechanical fingers against plastic. A hum from Viktor. A barely audible swallow from V. The Rockerboy’s grip on her waist. Lucien’s frown. 

A faint exhale from Viktor as he finally pulled away from the machine. Ever so slightly, her fingers quivered at her side. She couldn’t read him in the low-light of the clinic. 

“Unless this machine’s been tampered with...it’s a match, V. This choom really is your brother.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Hopefully we’ll see more truth from Johnny the next time around :)

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to leave kudos and comments to let me know what you guys think! I love seeing them! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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